


Shattered Reflections

by MythicDragonRider



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (In the 2P World), 2P Hetalia, Alternate History, Blood and Gore, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, If you want something specific tagged then ask me, Mirrors, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, another world - Freeform, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-01-27 15:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12585352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicDragonRider/pseuds/MythicDragonRider
Summary: When nations with the magic touch suddenly start seeing their reflections twist, with the ability to break through the mirror into their world, with the ability to pull the other nations into their own world, some problems understandably start happening.As they desperately attempt to hide the either passive or not reflections from the other nations, they begin to discover what caused the sudden connection between dimensions, and both sides must race against the clock to stop it.They just have to fend off the other nations getting confused and trying to get into their business, too.





	1. Mirror Image

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovely readers!  
> Firstly, happy Halloween! I finished this particular chapter about a week ago but wanted to wait until All Hallow's Eve to upload it. As you could probably see in the tags, this story probably isn't for the faint of heart or anyone who has had bad personal experiences with the listed things. This is most definitely a horror story, though I haven't written one before. And maybe you'll find the horror comes from a place you weren't expecting...
> 
> Secondly, this particular fanfiction actually has a bit of a history. When I was mainly uploading on fanfiction.net, this used to be a story I wrote, clocking in at 14 chapters and 28,659 words before I left in it the dust. I don't recommend going over to read it, it's pretty bad. That's why I'm rewriting it, after all! And I'd like to say, this isn't a go over the same plot points rewrite. This is a full-blown, diverging from the original plot as soon as 1000 words in rewrite. So if somehow one of my old fans found their way onto this site, don't expect the same plot.
> 
> Thirdly, this isn't going to be a usual 2P fic, in the most simple sense. The main villains aren't the 2Ps, as you can see in the description. Also, while some of the 2Ps will be based off popular opinion with my own little twists, like England and North Italy, a lot of them will be completely mine, made from the ground up. Just warning you.  
> Also, they have the same human names as the original nations.
> 
> Okay, let the show go on!

Shattered Reflections (Rewrite)  
Chapter 1 - Mirror Image

The sound of the kettle was loud and piercing, and England didn't know it any other way. Many people had told him the sound was annoying, or unnecessary, but he didn't take their words into consideration. For him, it was more calming than anything - something familiar that he could rely on to always have that shrill noise as he prepared for his day.  
When it slowly quietened down, he selected a teacup from his cabinet, something pretty and china, maybe from the 19th century. It was as he was choosing a tea bag that his phone rang, a noisy disturbance. He grumbled and continued to make the tea with magic, not needing to even look at the process, and went to answer his phone. It was a blocked number, but he didn't let that bother him.

"Hello?" Arthur asked. He was trying his best to be a gentleman - not letting his voice convey the irritation of being phoned at 5:30am. Nobody responded on the other side, and he frowned.  
He tried again, "Hello? Is anyone there?"  
Listening closely, he managed to hear breathing through the phone line. If this was a prank call, it wasn't a very funny one. He wondered if it was Alfred or if some local kid didn't realise that they had discovered the personal number of a living nation.  
"Arthur Kirkland here, who is this?" he was getting impatient with whoever this was. The breathing got heavier and then they hung up. He sighed and put it back down, returning to his tea. It was stirring itself, and he let himself physically take control by taking out the spoon and picking it up by the handle.

Who could've called him? It probably wasn't another nation. The one that seemed mostly likely to do something like that to him was definitely America, but he liked his sleep. Because England was holding the G8 meeting at noon, the nations could sleep in at least a bit. His internal clock had woken him up but he doubted that would be the same for America due to jet lag.  
He decided not to think too hard about it. He needed to get himself into a state of mind able to deal with 7 others, and the tea definitely would do that. Maybe he would have enough time to watch some TV. As he started to make his way into the lounge room, he took a quick glance at his reflection in his full-length mirror.  
It wasn't really his reflection, though.

It had his face, but that was the only similarity. Everything else belonged to a stranger. Instead of his sandy blonde hair, the reflection had a strawberry blonde, and his sensible black suit was replaced with a pastel sweater and bowtie. Instead of being green, its eyes were bright blue, a sharp contrast to the hair. Everything behind it was darkness, and it was cut off from the torso up, everything beneath also dark. It was wringing its hands together, which were also splashed with some sort of black substance.  
England stared. He had never seen anything like this before, in all his long years of magic. He had never seen any sort of spirit which even remotely resembled him. Was it some trick or apparition? What would someone gain from changing the person in the mirror? Maybe it was some sort of long-distance communication device, was this thing trying to talk to him?  
It didn't seem like it. The not-him seemed just as surprised as he did, if not more. England opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure if he should even try to hold a conversation with whatever-it-was.

The reflection seemed to be trying to get a grip on the situation. After a little while, it broke out into a wide but seemingly forced smile and said, "Hello!"  
Its accent was distinctly British, albeit a little unlike his own, and seemed to hold a slight edge to it, no doubt because of the situation. England didn't know how to respond, if to respond.  
He tried to think rationally, figuring that he needed to find out as much about this situation as possible, "...Who are you?"  
The reflection shrugged, "That depends, who are you?"  
England frowned, the response seemed somewhat uncomfortable. Who he was depended on the other person? The idea was connected to the concept of secrecy, and it reminded him very much about how a nation was a human to someone who didn't know they exist.

"Arthur Kirkland… My name is Arthur," England said cautiously. When it came to magical creatures, he usually didn't have to be so careful, but somehow it felt right to use his human name.  
The reflection frowned and cartoonishly stroked its chin, the black substance rubbing off on their face, "Well, I find that strange. After all, I'm Arthur Kirkland!"  
England made a noise of surprise. This reflection was him in some capacity? No, no, it was just bluffing to throw him off. Possibly it had also chosen this form to confuse him, it was merely nothing, he shouldn't be getting so worried.  
But then the reflection broke out into a devilish grin, "But, those aren't our real names, are they? If you really are Arthur, then your proper name should be the England! That's who I am, after all…"

England's eyes widened, surprised about how quickly it jumped the gun, "I… Who… Yes. I am England."  
He said it in a slow, cautious tone, unsure of how to properly reply. This not-him had the knowledge of what he was, and he was still convinced it was some sort of spirit or creature pretending to be him. The reflection took its hand down from its chin and tilted its head.  
"Say, Mr. Fake Me. That act you're putting on is rather convincing, but it would be best if you stop now," it said, having dropped its grin. England was confused its strange mannerisms, always shifting its body around and never staying in one position.  
England glared at it, "If anyone is putting on an act, it's you. I don't know who you are or why you're imitating me, but I suggest you stop."

The reflection pouted. Hard.  
"You're no fun! Just give it up and maybe I won't hurt you."  
England narrowed his eyes, "I should be saying the same to you. I am Arthur Kirkland, I am the real England, and I suggest you stop doing this before I destroy you."  
They had somewhat of a staring contest, before the reflection seemed to realise something, and that infernal grin returned.

"Hey, Mr. Fake Me? I think I have a resolution to this conflict! If you really are me, then please say! What did I, you, us, do yesterday?" the reflection happily cheered, as if he had just solved some global issue.  
England frowned further, "What I did yesterday? I prepared for the G8 meeting that I'm holding at my place today."  
The reflection stared, "Well, I'm not sure what a Gee-8 is, but I don't think making up words will help your case, Mr. Not Me! Now, let's get this over with nice and quickly so I can get back to dealing with America."  
Arthur frowned, "Dealing with America? What-"  
Before he could continue, the reflection slammed his fist against the glass. England stumbled back. He heard the smashing of glass, but no fragments fell from the mirror. Instead it had black, spindling cracks, that couldn't have been from his own mirror. To be sure, he traced his fingers over them, but there were as smooth as before.

The reflection frowned, "That didn't do much… Well, I'll just have to-"  
He interrupted himself by sending a fist at the glass again. It had much of the same effect, but England stumbled back a little further, pressing himself against the wall. He started to ready his magic, just in case. He started to recall all the magic he had used in the past few days, reassuring himself how he had only used it for the most mundane of tasks. He was ready and willing to use as much as he could to deal with this thing.  
The not-him punched yet again, and the glass was becoming more and more obscured with black. He couldn't properly see it anymore, only flashes of pastel colours and its face, furrowed in concentration.

"Maybe you should just give up, hey? Maybe I should stop wasting my time on you!" the reflection exclaimed.  
Arthur said, "I'm not doing anything! Whatever's happening-"  
"Shut up!"  
He could vaguely see the reflection rearing back to strike one more time, but this time there was no sound of shattering, and no black lines appeared. Instead, all of the black was gone, and England could see his entire body, including his bottom half. The black substance was now visible, and it was with disgust that he realised it was blood, with glass shards sticking out which must have been from when he was punching the mirror. He could now suddenly see the room behind the reflection, what seemed to be apartment much like the one he was in right then, for when he needed to stay in London. But none of this was the most shocking thing that happened, mere passing thoughts. After all, the reflection was sticking out of the mirror.  
It was as if the glass had stretched, much like plastic wrapping, and it had entirely come out of the mirror after the fist.

The reflection stared at him. He stared back.  
Suddenly, the not-glass popped, much like a bubble. The background behind the reflection instantly disappeared, revealing the wallpaper behind the mirror, and it tumbled out, right in front of England in the cramped hallway.  
"Where am I?" it said, before Arthur ran, into his living room and away from the reflection, dropping his tea cup in the process. It staggered up, using a painting on the wall as leverage, tearing it down in the process. England backed himself up against the door, before making some of the objects around him float. It was mostly for intimidation, to let the reflection know to back down, but he was willing to use them in whatever way if it were to attack.

The reflection paused when it saw his powers, and England thought that it was appropriately scared, so he sighed in relief.  
"Whatever you are, I will easily be able to defeat you, so just go back where you-"  
It looked back, saw the kitchen, then glanced back at England. It took a deep breath, as if readying itself for something. Then it suddenly broke out into a wicked smile, "Well, not if I defeat you first!"  
It suddenly ran as he had done, but up to the kitchen. Arthur frowned. Not if it defeated him first? What did that mean?  
He heard the sounds of his draws being hurriedly flung open, and he hurried up the hallway to see his entire kitchen being ransacked. But it was with magic, every single drawer and cupboard and even the fridge and pantry were being opened with magic.

He gaped. The only things that were capable of using that kind of magic were nations with the magic touch. What did that mean? How could this thing be a nation?  
His thoughts were cut off as he realised that the reflection had been looking through his kitchen to find his knives. It made them all levitate, 5 or so wickedly looking down on him.  
"You have less knives then I would've preferred, plus they're all rather blunt, but I can make this work," it said, still grinning.  
England didn't know what to do. Normally, he would be confident in his ability to fight any magical creature, but _this thing_ had the magic of a nation.

He didn't end up having much time to do anything when all of a sudden, a knife was sent to plunge into his flesh.  
Arthur quickly sent out a wave of magic and knocked it away before it reached him, stumbling backwards at the sudden attack. He similarly deflected a few of the follow up attacks, mind going into overdrive as it went into a familiar pattern, analysing everything around him in an effort of self-preservation. He had to take things seriously.  
The reflection seemed to playing with him, almost. It didn't seem perturbed by how he was easily deflecting every single attack, and it didn't look like it was being serious, either. Perhaps it was gauging how strong he was? He tried his best to use the least power possible to deflect each attack, to keep the extent of his abilities hidden.

He wasn't attacking yet, maybe just so he could judge how dangerous the reflection was and how much force it required to defeat. He didn't want to run out of magic, after all. But, it was supremely difficult to tell considering how it also seemed to be conserving power, and England was considering just attacking full-force to get it done quickly and hoping that he had enough magic left to handle it.  
As England began to back away near the door, the reflection unexpectedly shut it, and he heard the lock click. He growled and dodged the next knife instead of deflecting it, moving closer to the other door, hanging wide open to the hallway leading to his bedroom. The reflection noticed this, but before it could do something similar, he slipped through. He heard it yelling but didn't look back, letting his knowledge of the apartment give him an advantage, using his magic to make sure no knives would get him.

But the door slammed shut and locked, and when he tried to unlock this one with magic, he discovered that the reflection was blocking it from his magic such as he had physically blocked its knives.  
England whipped around, taking down his taxing shield and deflecting each knife individually as he had before. They were getting faster now and harder to combat, despite the fact there were only 5 - the reflection clearly knew how to handle them well. But it still wasn't difficult to him, though he was getting increasingly concerned about how much magic he was using. He hadn't had a magic fight like this in a very long time, so he was unsure on how to properly pace himself. As he thought about this, one particular knife flew towards him, and then _dodged_ his deflection.  
It got him square in the stomach.

Arthur wretched from the pain for a second before he tore it out, far used to this kind of pain after centuries of much worse. The reflection raised an eyebrow and he knew that he was cornered, literally. He had to either defeat the horrible thing, or escape in some way. A knife wasn't much, but he was scared that it was going to lead to much worse, so the nation started to get more serious than he already was.  
He leant back against the door, and used magic to propel him backwards, causing it to shatter into pieces and him to get inside the room. His opponent blinked and its knives faltered for a second, clearly not expecting him to damage to his own household. This gave him the opportunity to launch a sudden counterattack, and he sent his side table flying towards it, everything still on it.

He sent it so quickly that the reflection had no time to effectively block or dodge it, and it was hit square on, sending it flying backwards a few feet, its knives falling to the ground. England took the opportunity to take them himself, sending them flying towards the reflection. It blocked them with magic and the table, then tossed the latter away, practically spitting, "Don't use knives against me!"  
It seemed enraged, the grin now missing and a new fury in its eyes. Arthur knew that this meant it was probably now going to unleash more of its power, so he hopped onto the bed to get leverage, and slid his wardrobe across the room to block the door.  
His eyes widened when the reflection utterly destroyed the wardrobe, turning it into splinters and tearing up every piece of clothing inside. That certainly would've taken a lot of magic.  
Then England realised.

Using both magic and physical force, he sent everything in the room towards the reflection, it destroying every single one. In the meantime, he also had to block all of the attacks from the knives, which were growing into a frenzy. He began to be stabbed and slashed more, some only tiny cuts, but many more extreme. Eventually, he ran out of the things to launch, and in his distraction to find another alternative, a knife suddenly managed to slash his left arm right down to the bone. He exclaimed in pain, and tripped off the bed. Before he could be attacked again, he sent the entire bed launching towards it, and it was appropriately completely obliterated. Everything in the room had been ripped to shreds, and judging by the blood flowing out of his wounds, that included him.  
But if he had any chance, if the reflection's magic was even remotely similar to his, hopefully he would be able to get away. When it stepped towards him, knives primed, he suddenly sent a powerful wall of force towards it, making it stumble back for a second and giving him enough time to run out of the room.

"Don't use dirty tricks! That just means you're losing!" it shouted after him, now aiming the knives towards his legs. He managed to stop most of them with the draining amount of magic he was using as a shield, but one still managed to hit his right leg and he had to stumble into the kitchen with a limp. He then sent the refrigerator barrelling towards it, and it only managed to just tear the thing to pieces in time before it was crushed.  
Since most things in the kitchen weren't big enough, he broke down the door to get into the lounge room, his final resort.  
He whipped around to see more knives being sent after him, and after being stabbed in the left shoulder, he launched the sofa at it.  
The sofa was only half-destroyed when the reflection suddenly fainted, and he felt huge relief go through him. He stared, panting and sweating, almost half-expecting it to get up somehow. But it didn't, and he had won.

He stood there, shaking, and tried his best to organise his thoughts. He needed to… He needed to…  
In an effort to pull himself together, he decided to make a list of what he had to do.  
 _'1. Make sure reflection is actually unconscious, make sure it is reasonably restrained.  
2\. Call Norway and Romania.  
3\. Patch self up.'_  
He took a deep breath, and went to complete Step 1. He cautiously stepped over the reflection, pinned down by what was left of the sofa. It was definitely unconscious, so he pushed the remainders of the sofa further onto it so it couldn't get up, adding the TV to the weight for good measure. If it cracked any of its bones, it would be for the better. He also took all of the knives, each of them bloody, and hid them in the cushions of one of the remaining pieces of furniture, not sure of what else to do.

There wasn't much more that he could do as he was, so he used his right arm (the left was too thoroughly mangled) to take out his phone that was still somehow in pocket. He quickly opened it, looking through his contacts and quickly tapping Norway's. To his frustration, the nation didn't answer, even when he called for a second and third time. For all the times Norway could've been occupied, it had to have been now?  
He realised all too quickly that he may be dealing with a similar situation, so he quickly moved on to Romania. He started to shake even more when there wasn't an answer from him either, but that was probably just the blood loss.  
Who else could he call? There was nobody else he knew of with the magic touch, and barely anyone knew of magic-

At that, he knew he his only viable option. They would be quicker, anyway.  
He felt a little panicked when his first call wasn't answered, he knew it was early but it wasn't that early, right? They would still answer, they should still answer, otherwise he had no other options and he would have to deal with this himself-  
He felt another big relief go through him when it was finally answered.  
"The fuck do you want?" said a grumpy, tired Scottish accent.  
England immediately said, "I need your help, right now."  
His tone seemed to deliver the urgency of his situation, because Scotland replied in a more serious manner, "What's wrong?"  
"It's a magic problem, a very dangerous one, but Norway and Romania aren't responding, so I think they're dealing with it, too. Please come to my apartment in London, bring the other three, too. And stop at my house on the way, get those magical blocking gloves that I've used before."

The other's voice got demanding, but England knew it was out of worry, "Arthur, what's happening? What's wrong?"  
"Look, it's complicated. I'll explain when you get here. Just get the other three, get the gloves, and come here. Fast is best, so maybe take a plane and get Seren to get them. _Please_ , just get here and I'll explain. I have things to do while I'm waiting…"  
He shifted as he felt the blood continuing to drip down his body, feeling the familiar sensations of haziness and weakness.  
There was a pause, before Scotland answered, "...Okay, but you better have a good reason for this. Be careful, yeah?"  
"Yeah."  
Arthur hung up before his brother could say anything more.

He felt his injured body ache even more just at the realisation he'd have to clamber over the sofa and TV he had piled upon the reflection, which was blocking the doorway. At least his medical supplies were in the bathroom, the only room where things hadn't been torn to pieces.  
Trying his best to not let the blood loss get to him, he began limping forward.


	2. An Outlandish Condition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England's siblings arrive, Iceland reads a book, and New Zealand goes on a bike ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers!  
> Thanks to everyone who's read it so far. If anyone's here from TSOHS, sorry! I just have so much inspiration for this story, it's insane. I think I'm enjoying the much more complex narrative.  
> I think it's my main project now. As I said, I am very, very sorry if you preferred by other stories, but this one makes me very happy and I want to write something I enjoy.  
> I'll still be continuing with TSOHS, of course.  
> Enjoy!

Shattered Reflections (Rewrite)  
Chapter 2 - An Outlandish Condition

When there was a knock on England's door, he finally was able to relax. He had spent the previous hour and a half doing a few things, including patching himself up (his wounds would only heal in a few days, even as a nation) and moving the reflection from his living room to his bedroom, which had taken a great amount of exertion. He had also restrained it a bit more thoroughly, using ropes from his curtains to tie it up. After a small incident with a neighbour checking up on him to see if he was okay after all those loud noises and the unfortunate collateral of using even more magic, this time to erase memories, he had mostly sat down on the floor and waited.  
Now the waiting was over.

He limped over to his door and was about to open it when his hand froze on the doorknob. What if it was another neighbour? What if someone had called the police because of the noises? Just in case, he decided to knock out a rhythm he hadn't used in a very long time, hoping that whoever was on the other side would remember it.  
After a few seconds of silence, there was the appropriate response, and he pushed his paranoid thinking to the back of his mind. He slowly inched open the door, so he could get a look at who they were, three options being possible.

It was a very intimidating Scottish man, with eyebrows furrowed in what really could be anger or worry. It was immediately obvious that he had left the house in a rush, since his bright blue dress shirt looked terrible, he clearly hadn't shaved, and his dark ginger hair was still in a messy bedhead. He shoved his way into the apartment, and got even more angry-or-worried when he saw the state England was in.  
"What the hell happened to you?"  
When he looked around and saw the state of the room, with its broken door, shredded couch, and curtains strewn across the floor, Scotland added, "What the hell happened to this place?"  
"The same thing for both, I'm afraid," England replied.

Scotland growled, "That's not an answer! You said it had something to do with magic, right? Then what-"  
He was interrupted with a knock on the door. Without hesitation, he marched towards it, despite England's protests. He tore it open, to reveal Ireland waiting behind it. She was about to say something, before she saw the state of the room, "What the hell happened to this place?  
She strode in, then saw the state of England, "What the hell happened to you?"  
This was going to be a long day.

"That's what I want to know," Scotland provided, and now England had two angry-or-worried siblings glaring at him.  
He crossed his arms, which was particularly painful with his injuries, and said, "I'll explain when Seamus get here. He won't be..."  
The glares got even more severe, and he glared right back at them, which probably wasn't so intimidating with all the bandages wrapped around his body. After an unreasonably long time, England finally averted his gaze and sighed, "Look, it's not that big of a deal. It's just a magical situation I haven't dealt with before. I would've called on Norway and Romania to help, but they weren't answering their phones."

He wasn't sure if it was possible for Scotland to look more unimpressed, "Not that big of a deal, huh? Then why did you want those magic blocking gloves? Oh, if I remember correctly, last time you needed those-"  
"Yes, yes, I know!" England said, "And while the amount of magic I've used is unfortunate, it's not to that extent. I need them for something else."  
Ireland raised an eyebrow, "I thought you said Norway and Romania weren't answering their phones."  
"...They're not."  
Their frustrated expressions were replaced with confused ones, and Scotland asked, "Wait, there's other nations with the magic touch? I thought you said it was only you, Norway and Romania."

Before England could make up another excuse to postpone the explanation, there was finally another knock on the door. Ireland quickly swung it open, and Northern Ireland stomped in. Upon seeing the two unfortunate states of certain things within the house, he opened his mouth to say something, before England stopped him.  
"Yes, we get it! The room is a mess, I'm a mess, and now I can actually explain why."  
Now three of his siblings were looking at him, very unamused, and he hoped the fourth would be here as soon as possible.  
Scotland waltzed over to the arm chair, which was basically the only thing left in the room that wasn't at least partially destroyed, sat down and said, "Then explain."  
It was that thing he always did when he covered up concern with apathy or annoyance. He didn't even try to hide it, knowing his siblings would realise, but still never stopped doing it.

The other two followed him, and sat on either arm of the chair. They looked particularly intimidating, Scotland being flanked by two Irelands. England wished they would stop making a big deal about every magic thing he mentioned. Maybe he should've waited for Norway and Romania instead, or somehow dealt with it himself.  
"Okay, so basically… It's a magical creature, I'm fairly sure, one that I've never dealt with. And, somehow it's able to use nation magic. It's a type of magic specific only to nations, as you may infer from the name, and magical creatures usually have their own kinds."  
The three communicated quietly with their expressions, before Northern Ireland stuck his hand up, much like a school child, "Um, Mr Kirkland? I have a question. How the fuck is that possible, then? Are you sure it's not just another nation?"  
England's entire family was made up of arrogant pricks.

He sighed, "It wouldn't be. Norway and Romania are the only other nations with the magic touch, and neither of them would send a random magical creature or apparition to attack me."  
"Well, what if it's a declaration of war?" Scotland said.  
Arthur shook his head, "Why would they attack the personification rather than the actual nation? Besides, barely anyone knows of the existence of magic and attacking a nation with magic in its home country is just a recipe for disaster."  
This made Ireland scoff, "What, does the land give you magical energy or some bullshit?"  
She performed appropriately 'mystical' hand gestures, and England was about to correct her complete inability to understand magic with actual fact, before his phone rang.

All four nations immediately whipped their heads around to see it, placed on the floor among a few bloodstains, partially cracked from either the struggle that had just occurred or an earlier, trivial experience. England went over to pick up the phone, and showed off the screen that prominently displayed 'Lukas'. Then he accepted the call and put it on speaker.  
"Arthur, you need to stay away from reflective surfaces."  
A Norwegian accent came through the tinny speakers, as emotionless as always.  
England said, "It's too late for that, I'm afraid. Did you get attacked too?"  
"What? Attacked? Of course I didn't, what happened to-"  
"Oh, of course he got attacked! England's psychotic, you know. Don't accept his cupcakes."  
He was surprised to hear a second voice interrupt the nation, one that he didn't recognise. It sounded kind of like Lukas, but it had a thicker accent, and held much more emotion than would be expected with him.  
He was even more shocked to hear a "Shut up." from Norway, holding more anger in his voice than he had heard in a long time.

"Who is that?" Ireland asked, and England glared at her for interrupting the conversation.  
Norway replied with, "Wait, who said that?"  
"Ireland. I've got her, Scotland, and Northern Ireland with me. More importantly, answer her question."  
There was a strange argument on the other side, with the unknown voice saying something in Norwegian and Lukas replying with what sounded suspiciously like a swear. He finally answered.  
"The reflection in my window was different this morning. It climbed through into the physical world somehow. I had to deal with a situation to make sure none of the other Nordics noticed, and now it won't shut up."  
"That's rude, you know! You were the reflection to me," what was presumably Norway's reflection said.  
England wasn't sure if he was relieved or concerned, "The same thing happened to me. Except mine decided to attack me with magic. And knives."

These revelations seemed to unsettle England's present siblings, but it seemed to affect Norway's reflection even more.  
"Magic? What? England can't-"  
Lukas interrupted with something else in Norwegian, and Arthur swear he heard the two of them physically fighting. It didn't last long, and Lukas quickly said, "Where is your reflection now?"  
"Unconscious. Used all its magic."  
"Okay, good. Look, I'll try to call Romania, see if he's dealing with the same problem. I'll call you back soon."  
England pursed his lips, "Alright."  
The call ended.

Scotland stepped out of his chair and marched up to him, "What the hell was that about? Reflections? Your _reflection_ came out of the mirror and attacked you?"  
"Yes. I didn't give you the details."  
Northern Ireland looked at him, with a face so incredulous it must've been breaking some world records, "I think that's a bit different from a magical creature, _Arthur_. Where is this reflection anyway? You said it ran out of magic?"  
England gestured vaguely at the destroyed door to the kitchen, "I restrained it in my room."  
The Irelands leaped up, as well, Ireland saying, "Show us, then!"

When he lead them through the kitchen, they stared at the utterly destroyed fridge. Out of everything that had been torn to shreds, it had made the biggest mess because of everything inside it. There was torn food strewn all over the floor, but most of it didn't make too much of a mess. The main problem was the beverages and condiments, creating puddles all over the kitchen.  
As England stepped over some tomato sauce, he explained, "So it would use all its magic, I threw things at it that it destroyed like this. It seemed awfully angry for some reason."  
Niamh crinkled her nose at a fish that had been destroyed thoroughly and disgustingly, while Seamus hopped away from a block of literally shredded cheese that had mixed with juice and what had been eggs.  
Scotland simply ignored them and said, "At least you still have what's in the pantry."

When they finally reached his bedroom, they saw the absolute shambles the room was in. The reflection was laying among the wreckage, tied up not tightly enough due to the state of England's arms.  
Ireland poked it, "So this is the guy that attacked you?"  
"Yep. With knives."  
Northern Ireland also approached it, "Yeah, we can tell. Hey, this guy has strawberry blonde hair! He must be the real you that you banished away centuries and centuries ago, so you could take his place and hide your true identity as a demon."  
Arthur grumbled. It wasn't his fault his hair was blonde.  
Scotland kneeled down to get a closer look, "I thought he would be more intimidating. He's just you but with a different hair colour and really ugly clothing."  
"It also has blue eyes…"

Seamus tried to open its eyes to see the alleged colour.  
Alasdair looked up at him, "So, what do we do with him?"  
"That's why I need the magical blocking gloves, so it wouldn't cause more trouble when it woke up. Hopefully Seren will be here soon."  
"Ah, she's getting them, is she? I was wondering where she was… We should stay in here and make sure he doesn't wake up. Maybe you can explain more of what happened, too," Niamh mused, still poking the reflection.  
Grumbling, England sat down on the floor, shaking slightly from the exertion and his injuries.

\---

In the morning, Iceland didn't do much. He didn't think he had anything important to do, though he rarely had anything important to do. He didn't think that any of his family were forcing him to do anything, or that he had any meetings related to the fact he was a nation. So, when he woke up annoyingly early because he had gone to sleep too early the night before, he simply put on music and started to read until he felt hungry. He had done this for the previous few mornings, because he had a series to get through and his music always made him feel happy.

Three quarters into the second chapter, and halfway through a song, he finally decided that it was time to get breakfast. Hopefully he could slip out and get something without anyone noticing, so he could continue reading without being disturbed.  
When he checked his phone for the time, he was mildly disappointed to find it was only 6:34. He hadn't burned away as much as of the morning as he had hoped, though he had made good progress with his book.

When he put his book down and paused the song, he frowned as he looked into his turned off phone's black screen. The faint reflection that he saw… It didn't reflect his background, and he swore that it didn't look like him. Its eyes seemed… ...bluer, and its hair straw yellow instead of his platinum blonde. It could just be a trick of his eyes, though.  
He realised that it wasn't when the reflection moved its head and he didn't.  
He stared widely in shock, which the reflection also returned, but he now realised that instead of wearing his pyjamas, it wore a sweater and scarf. What was this? Did it have something to do with Norway's strange spirits? He had dealt with them before without alerting the nation, who he didn't think even knew he could see them, so he could do it again. (1)

"What are you…?" Iceland asked.  
The reflection took on a confused expression, and answered in Norwegian, "What did you say?"  
So it hadn't understood his Icelandic? It made sense, since it probably had something to do with Norway. Maybe it had never been to Iceland and had never learned the language. It wasn't used outside of his remote country, anyway.  
"Um, I asked you what… Who are you?"  
The reflection blinked, "My name is Emil. Emil Steilsson."

What.  
"But… That's my name."  
It seemed just as surprised as him, and uncertain of what to say next, "W-Why are you inside my mirror?"  
"What do you mean? You're inside my phone…"  
Both of them sort of gaped at each other for a few seconds, before Iceland tried to get a hold of himself, and analysed the situation. There was someone in his phone, who looked like him, claimed that he was called the same name as him, and claimed that he was seeing Iceland in his mirror.  
Iceland saw _The Magician's Nephew_ (2), still open on his desk, as the sentence at the top of the page grabbed his eyes.

_life, and in my state of health, to risk the shock and the dangers of being flung suddenly_  
into a different universe? I never heard anything so preposterous in my life! Do you realize  
what you’re saying? Think what Another World means - you might meet anything.” 

He had a theory.

"Give me a second, I want to try something," Iceland said, and put his phone down. Then, he quickly searched through his drawers for something that he hadn't used in a long time. He finally found it, an old hand mirror, cracked through the middle. He rubbed off the dust and looked into it. The reflection appeared again, much clearer and still showing that the background was replaced by black.  
Other-him frowned, "You just disappeared for a second."  
"Yeah, I probably did. Okay, listen, I think I know what's going on."

\---

Something was wrong.  
Australia had said that he would be here at 3pm, but it was already 4. He would never be late, especially when he had been so excited to show New Zealand the 'wonders' of Rottnest Island (3). It had been a few years since he had taken him here, after all, though New Zealand really couldn't tell the difference between it and all his other tourist traps of islands.  
Well, he wasn't one to talk about tourist traps.  
He checked his watch again, which prominently displayed '4:06'. Maybe he should just ride back to where they were staying to make sure he was okay. He glanced at the sparkling water. So much for snorkelling.

He closed his book and checked his phone one more time, which was already low on battery. Still no word from Jett, so he sighed and packed everything up in his bag, and hopped on his rented bike.  
Despite his pride, he did admit that this place was nice. It had a few historical locations, though they weren't as impressive to someone who had lived through history, and environment was rather pretty, though it was nothing compared to his place. He even liked the little quokkas, though he wasn't as interested in taking photos with them. The thing he definitely liked the most was the peaceful atmosphere; when he was away from the tourists and riding by himself, he was actually having a lot of fun. (4) So that was another win on the part of Australia.

As he rode across one of the lakes, he felt particularly daring and starting cycling as fast as he could. He even went up to the edge of the path and peered into the water, making sure he didn't ride over any of the rocks near the edge.  
He saw his reflection quickly flipping through the water, and his eyes widened when he saw that it wasn't him. The lake around it had darkened to an inky black, and his reflection, while hard to make out due to how fast he was moving, certainly didn't look like him. Its hair was brown and its skin tone was subtly darker, and instead of wearing his simple t-shirt and shorts it had what looked like a suit.  
Its eyes were a deep brown, almost black.  
He was certain he heard it say, "Who are you?"

New Zealand's front wheel snagged one of the rocks, and he went tumbling into the lake. It took him a few seconds to fight his way to the surface after the shock of injury he had from hitting the rocks and the cold water. Soaking wet, he dragged his bike out of the lake, and stumbled to the floor, wincing as his legs were scraped on the ground. He was shaking in the shock of the accident, and eventually managed to calm himself down. He had experienced accidents like that before, so he wasn't too worried.  
He looked down. His left leg was broken, and they were both bleeding in various places. He wouldn't be riding back, then.  
He checked his phone, and it was completely bricked, as he expected. He sighed and put it on the floor, then went to move his broken leg to a more fortunate position. He grimaced when he touched it, but pulled through the pain. He had experienced worse, but it wasn't a very fortunate situation, and he wished that his leg was fine and he could ride back to where Australia was.

It was with profound shock that he felt a rush of warmth go through his leg, and the pain went away. He moved his leg. It wasn't broken.  
He gaped at his apparently-not-broken leg. He was certain it had been - the pain had felt like it, and it had been twisted at an angle that it never should've been. But now it was as normal as ever, as if he had never taken the fall.  
That, along with the not-reflection he had seen earlier, he was almost convinced he had spontaneously gone insane.  
Thinking of that, he peered into the water again. This time it was just his normal reflection staring back at him, giving a very stupid look, contrary to what he had seen before.  
He then remembered England and his magic. New Zealand had always teased him for believing in fairies, but now he was inclined to believe him. England probably would really help him in this situation.

New Zealand picked up his phone, numbly wishing that he could contact him so he could be given advice.  
To his surprise, it suddenly turned on, and the screen lit up to show England's number already being called.

\---

(1) Hima has said that Iceland can see Norway's spirits but hasn't told anyone. Therefore, he has the magic touch.  
(2) The Magician's Nephew is the prequel to the Chronicles of Narnia, detailing how Narnia and the wardrobe came to be. It follows a rescue attempt over multiple dimensions.  
(3) Rottnest Island is an island off the coast of Western Australia, and a very popular tourist definition (referred to as 'Rotto'). Snorkelling, diving, and biking are popular activities there.  
(4) It's basically impossible to get around the island without a bike, because even if you take a car there are some trails that are too small for it. Historical locations include Oliver Hill Battery and Kingston Barracks. Quokkas are arguably the most famous part of the island, creatures only native there which are in abundance. Tourists often take selfies with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, I'm adding some little annotations to explain things which won't have an in-story explanation. These will mostly be cultural references and such.  
> Since I'm Australian and know about my culture more than any other, Australian culture will probably be the most mentioned in the story, but I'll try to mention other cultures too.  
> Originally, Australia was supposed to have a big role and New Zealand was supposed to have a smaller one, but it seems like the roles have been reversed, haha. I'll still try to write the Kiwi as well as possible.  
> By the way, the human names for England's siblings are as follows, if you haven't picked it up:  
> Alasdair - Scotland  
> Seren - Wales  
> Niamh - Ireland  
> Seamus - Northern Ireland
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. The Things That Are Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this is getting weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers!  
> Thanks to everyone who's reading. I usually don't ask for comments, but it would really help if I got one or two. I'm highly motivated to write this story anyway (the most I've been to write a story in a very long time), but if y'all could just tell me you're reading I will be very, very happy.  
> Enjoy!

Shattered Reflections (Rewrite)  
Chapter 3 - The Things That Are Missing

England was fairly sure his reflection wouldn't appreciate being sat on. Both Niamh and Seamus had felt like it was their personal duty to make sure it was properly restrained, and they decided to do this by using it as a substitute for the torn up furniture.  
"I'm fairly sure it has a few broken bones. It probably won't enjoy what you're doing to it," England said dryly.  
Niamh shrugged, "Who cares? He's not in a position to object."  
As Seamus started bouncing up and down on it, Arthur wasn't sure to be proud or disappointed in his older siblings.

When his phone rang, England reached over to it, "Ah, that must be Norway."  
Seeing his frown at whoever was calling, Scotland raised an eyebrow, "Is it not him?"  
"No, it's… New Zealand. I wonder why he's calling."  
Northern Ireland yawned, "Well, it's not like we have anything to do. Answer him."  
England said, "I'll go answer it by myself. I only let you listen in on the one with Norway because it was relevant to the situation."  
He heard his brother's grumbles as he left the room to answer the call. It was early evening in New Zealand, he was fairly sure, and he wondered what the boy wanted.

"E-England, hey," his voice was strangely shaky on the other side.  
"Hello, Kaelin. Why are you calling?" Arthur made sure to emphasise the human name. It was very unlikely the security of personal phone calls would be compromised, but nations tended to be careful just in case. The fact the New Zealand who was usually very careful had forgotten, along with tone of his voice, worried England.  
"Um, so… You can use magic, right?"  
This further concerned him. Only his family, Norway and Romania actually believed in a magic, with a few miscellaneous exceptions, none of which being New Zealand. The others mostly ridiculed him for believing in it, and the fairies and spirits that came with it.  
"Yes, I can. Why are you asking? I thought you didn't believe in it," England said, cautiously.  
There was a moment's hesitation before the reply, "Well, I was riding a bike, and I looked into the water and… My reflection was different. Then-"

"Your reflection?" England hated to cut in, but…  
"Yes, my reflection had changed. And the water went all black. But-"  
Arthur demanded, "Kaelin, it is imperative that you stay away from all reflective surfaces. If you have to, even for a second, ignore the reflection and don't talk to it. Please."  
"You've dealt with this sort of thing before? What's going on? What should I do?"  
"Well… It just so happens that I'm dealing with this sort of thing now. And because I wasn't careful enough, my reflection is now in this world."  
This seemed to scare Kaelin, and Arthur could tell even over the phone. He felt a pang of sympathy for him, having to deal with magic a few minutes after he didn't even think it existed.

"Okay… Um, I'm not sure if this happened to you as well, but something else happened to me. And I'm kinda freaking out so please say that I'm not going insane," New Zealand's voice was shaking even more now.  
"What's wrong? What happened to you?" England said, further concerned.  
"So, the reflection took me off guard, and I was riding near the edge of the pathway, so I kind of had a bike accident… And my leg broke, but then I touched it and it just… Unbroke? I swear it was broken, but it's not anymore, and I don't know what happened. A-And my phone was destroyed because it was in the water, but then it just turned on as if nothing happened, then immediately called you? Please tell me I'm not going insane."  
Through the explanation, England's blood ran cold. That was nation magic, it had to be. But he knew that New Zealand didn't have the magic touch, so what was happening?

"Kaelin, have you ever experienced anything similar in your life? Have you ever been able to move something you didn't touch? Have you ever been able to suddenly fix something without explanation? Have you been able to do anything that seems strange or otherwordly?" he frantically asked.  
"W-What? No, this is the first time…"  
He looked down and chewed on his lip, thinking in a desperate frenzy.  
"Eng-Arthur, are you still there?"  
"Yes, yes, I'm sorry. This is especially troubling - it's like you have the magic touch, but nations with the magic touch have it since birth… Look, just come to my apartment in London. I-I can handle it once you're here."  
"London? That's a day's flight."

England sighed, "Yes, yes, I know, but it's dangerous for someone with the magic touch to be untrained in it. Just come over to London, and we'll handle it from there. Don't bother packing, just go, you need to be here as quickly as possible."  
"Alri-"  
Suddenly, the call ended, and England frowned. Why would he hang up in the middle of a word? He tried to call back, but there was no answer, so he chalked it up to the loose rules of untrained magic. He just hoped New Zealand would get here quickly. He didn't know how he could spontaneously gain a magic touch, but it almost certainly had to do with the reflections due to the impeccable timing.

Trying to push down his worries, England returned to the room, where three siblings looked at him with curious expressions. Scotland asked, "What was that about?"  
Arthur felt completely exhausted, "I guess this situation is just getting worse."  
Ireland rolled her eyes, "There he goes, again with the vague answers."  
"I swear, you can't even ask him how his day's going without him saying something cryptic and slightly concerning," Northern Ireland said.  
Scotland added, "God forbid you ever ask him a yes or no question."  
He was far used to his siblings mocking, and he could swear that they weren't giving it their all.

He sunk down to the ground, "Well it seems like New Zealand is involved in this mess, too."  
Alasdair grimaced, "Did his reflection come through into our world, too?"  
"No, actually. He just saw his reflection change. But that's not why he called me. Actually, I don't want to have to explain again, so let me call up Norway and we can talk about it with him."  
England was frustrated to find that there was no answer the first time he tried, going straight to voicemail. He decided to attempt it once again in the hopes that he was simply slow to answer.

When the phone was finally picked up, he began to speak, "Lukas, there's something we need to talk about. New Zea-"  
"Whoa, slow down there. I'm not the Norway you know," was the reply. It was the thick Norwegian accent he had heard earlier, and he felt a chill go down his spine.  
The three others looked at him with differing expressions, and he could read what they were trying to say, Alasdair telling him to hang up, Niamh telling him to be cautious, and Seamus seeming to dare him to answer.

He replied as deliberately as possible, though he knew that it wouldn't be able to hurt him over a phone, "...You must be Lukas's reflection."  
"Hey, that's rude! I'm not just Norway's reflection, I'm a living creation. How would _you_ like it if I called you England's reflection?" the thing objected, and England winced at its tone of voice.  
"What do you mean by that? I am Arthur," he said. The conversation held an uncomfortable resemblance to the one he had with his reflection, with an argument about who England really was.  
"Hm, I see you and this Norway share a similar point of view. Look, I'm not some, weird, dangerous magical creature here to kill you. I guess you could say neither is England, but he is dangerous and though he isn't specifically here to kill you he might end up doing it, anyway," it said.  
"...Then what are you?"

"In comparison to you? Well, I'm not completely sure, but I do have a theory. I happen to have my own world, and I can see this world that you live as clear as day. So, what's to say this doesn't involve alternate dimensions?"  
All the grace that England had been giving immediately disappeared, "That's preposterous. Those sorts of alternate dimensions don't exist, and even if they did, why would there be a collision between them?"  
Ireland shrugged, "Sounds possible to me."  
England made a stern face, "Trust me, I've been in magic longer than you, and alternate dimensions do not exist."

"Listen to whoever-that-is, why don't you? If you didn't know, new things can be discovered! Wow!"  
The reflection was really getting on his nerves, and he understood why Norway had seemed so angry at it earlier.  
Scotland raised an eyebrow, "Arthur, maybe you should listen to it? You said yourself that you've never dealt with a situation like this before. An implausible theory is better than no theory."  
The voice increased in volume, "Exactly! Man, you should really listen to these random people who are with you. Who are they, anyway?"  
England growled, "Why do you want to know?"  
It avoided the question, "Well, they must be rather important to be with you and listening to this conversation… And those accents… Wait, there's no way!"

Northern Ireland tilted his head, "No way? What do you mean by that?"  
"Are you guy's England's siblings?! Like, the real ones? Wales, Scotland, Ireland, Northern Ireland? You're actually there?" there was a tone in its voice that made it sound like it had discovered the cure for cancer, rather than finding out that he happened to have his siblings in the room with him.  
Seamus nodded, even though the reflection couldn't see it, "Yeah, though Wales isn't here. What of it?"  
"...Holy shit. This really is an alternate dimension," it said, awed.  
"What's so impressive about that?" England snapped. He really didn't like this thing, and it wasn't helping because his siblings were seeming to take its side.

"Well in my dimension, you guys are dead! Very, very dead. You died centuries ago," it said.  
They all paused, including England. The atmosphere in the room felt somehow darker.  
Maybe out of morbid curiosity, Ireland asked, "...How?"  
"Oh, that's simple! My England murdered all of them, all brutalised. Especially Scotland - though I didn't see his body myself, even France said it was horrifying!"  
At this revelation, both Niamh and Seamus instantly hopped off its body, clearly wanting to be nowhere near it. England swore that Niamh gave him an uneasy look, as if she expected him to murder them much like the reflection. Even Alasdair had a look of surprise and mild horror.  
Arthur, personally, felt sick to his stomach.

"Well, you've all gone quiet, haven't you? When England wakes up, you might not want to be in the room. I don't know how he'd react to his dead siblings. Maybe he'd try to murder them again…"  
The implications of this statement weighed on all of them, especially England, whose experience with the reflection lead him to imagine his siblings in a similar situation. He wasn't going to let that happen.  
"L-Look, I called Norway to talk to him, not you. Thank you for the warning, but we're going to have to go now," England said, and his siblings seemed relieved that he was ending the conversation.  
"Wait, wait! Before you go, I have one more question! You mentioned that England - my England - used magic, right? But he can't use it, as far as I know."  
England said bluntly, "Yep, it used magic. The state of my house is a testament to that."  
"...I didn't know that. Hah, he must have been hiding it this whole time. Even from England, I didn't expect that level of craftiness. Well, thank you! Goodbye!"

Before it could hang up, Arthur quickly said, "Wait! When will I be able to talk to Lukas? Where is he, anyway? I have something very important to tell him."  
"Yeah, something to do with New Zealand? Well, I think he had some sort of business with Iceland or something. Don't know when he'll be back, but I've enjoyed messing around on his phone. He uses the same password as me, you know!"  
"...Alright. Tell him to call me when he's back."  
With that, England hung up.

Afterwards, Scotland walked up to him, "...What should we do? Wouldn't it be dangerous if he woke up?"  
Northern Ireland nodded aggressively in agreement, and Ireland crossed her arms, "I really don't think we should be in the same room as him. I don't feel in the mood to be 'brutalised'."  
England frowned, deep in thought. He really didn't know what to do with this thing. The fact that it had killed its family only made the need to restrain it properly more urgent, and he desperately hoped that Seren would get to his apartment soon so they could do so.  
All four siblings snapped their heads to the source of a sudden whimper.

It was the reflection, eyes wide open, staring at them.  
And it looked terrified.

\---

As continued to ride back to the place he was staying, there was an uneasy feeling in New Zealand's stomach. He felt restless, as if he should be doing something more to fix this situation than flying to England, and he channelled his anxiousness into the rhythm of his legs. His left leg wasn't suddenly going out of control, breaking itself again, or falling limp and sending him into another accident. It was like the injury had never happened, which didn't sit right with him for more than the reason that he had just found out about magic.  
The smaller scratches and bruises from the accident were starting to fade, since nations healed so quickly. Soon, there would be no evidence that it had ever even happened, because the Australian summer sun had already dried his clothes and hair to be only slightly damp.

When he finally reached the villa where he and Australia were staying, he breathed a sigh of relief. Presumably, Jett was in there, so he'd just say that he had to go. Explaining the situation seemed too complex, considering what had happened.  
As he opened the door, he called out, "Hey, Jett? Where are you? Kinda left me hanging, weren't we going to go snorkelling?"  
There was no answer, and he frowned in confusion. He started to search out the back, where he would probably be, then in the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, Jett's bedroom… He even checked his own bedroom, but there was nothing.  
This wasn't good for his already stressed mind.

During his search, Kaelin found Jett's phone, all of the messages he had sent unread, and wallet, both things that Jett would never leave behind. The only reason why they had been separated in the first place, when Australia definitely would've preferred to show him around, was because the nation had said he had 'something to do'. He had refused to elaborate beyond that, and now Kaelin really wished that he had pressed for more information.  
Wait, he had, hadn't he?

New Zealand frowned. What had just happened? He had been certain that he hadn't properly asked Australia what he was going to do, but now he could remember that he had. Had it slipped his mind? What was happening?  
He couldn't comprehend the sensation. Just a second ago, he had remembered something, but now he remembered a different event taking place. Of course, he had pressed Jett, and Jett had eventually said that he was going to make pavlova for them, by himself, to prove that he was better at it. Then they had one of their endless arguments about it, because of course New Zealand had made it, he had the evidence (1), what was Australia even saying-

But wait, after that, he had said that he was going to help him make it-  
But wait, he hadn't, he hadn't asked, he hadn't pressed, and he had rode up to-  
No, he had asked-  
He hadn't-

Kaelin stopped thinking about the moment to escape.  
What the hell had just happened? Every time he thought of that moment, everything felt horrible and sickly and _wrong_.  
He ran into the kitchen and tore upon the door to the fridge. In it, a freshly made pavlova was waiting.  
The nation staggered back with a twisted feeling in his gut.  
Something was wrong, so very wrong.

Maybe Australia had bought it from somewhere, and hadn't actually made it. Maybe he was freaking out for nothing and his memory was just being faulty. But, he glanced at the kitchen sink, and saw all the baking equipment miscellaneously tossed into it.  
Knowing Jett, he would've made Kaelin clean it all up, or would've after they cooked together, no, what was happening-  
There was a conspicuous piece of equipment missing, the reflective bowl that he had seen while rifling through the cabinets earlier. He checked through the sink, and in the cabinets, but it wasn't there. Where was it? Had Jett actually made the pavlova? He couldn't have without the bowl, right? Surely he hadn't made it?

New Zealand slammed his fist against the bench. What was he doing? Why the hell was he freaking out over a _pavlova_ , of all things?  
This was fine. He would be fine. Whatever was happening with his memory, he was sure that England would explain it and fix it when he got there. As for Jett, with or without his phone and wallet, he was a strong person and could handle himself. Kaelin was going through his own crisis right now, he didn't need to worry about him when his leg was fixing itself in mere seconds and his memory was making him feel like nothing was real and making him cry, of all things!  
He was crying, he had realised.

He wiped away the tears, composed himself, and marched out of the house. He was going to be fine, because England was an expert in this and would easily be able to fix it.  
There would be no time to return his bike - New Zealand needed to get away from Rotto, to take the next departing ferry.

\---

When America woke up, it took him a few seconds to realise where he was. (2)  
The first clue was his injuries, he could feel knife wounds slashed across his chest and ankles. Then, when he opened his eyes, he actually saw the location, but he was still a little too confused to get a grip on where he was. Then, his memory quickly came back to him, and he knew that he had picked a fight with England.  
Of course he had.

He grunted as he hoisted himself up on his arm, looking more clearly at where he was. He was in England's living room, where they had fought. After the older nation had knocked him out because he was bored of fighting him, it was clear he had cleaned up. He had even taken care of the fucking blood stains. But what America didn't know was why he was still lying in the middle of the lounge room. After he returned his house to pristine condition, England always called up Canada to get him, or on worse days, tossed him out onto the street. While he was glad the latter option hadn't happened to him, it was still strange. He got up to his feet, picking up his baseball bat from where it had been placed neatly on the coffee table.  
England had even cleaned it, the bastard.

Al sneered at it. He'd have to find another nation who pissed him off to give it the patent dried bloodstains yet again, preferably someone who was more on his skill level.  
He almost wanted himself to have been drunk last night. It would've still been dark if he had decided to fly to England and woke up at what he saw was 8am, judging by the shitty analogue clock that was still hung above the mantelpiece.  
It was 2612! Who the hell still _had_ a mantelpiece?  
But, he knew that he had been perfectly sober. Maybe he had been frustrated, like he always seemed to be. It wasn't his fault for being so. But, he always ended up with too many knife wounds to count and only one or two hits on England.  
One day, he'd finally be able to show him a piece of his mind. But this day didn't happen to be that day, as it seemed to be with every day in his damn life.

America considered counting his blessings and leaving before England could give him some lecture, but was curious as to the fact why he wasn't either at Canada's place or on the London streets. Really, he spent too much time at both places.  
He walked cautiously towards where he knew England's bedroom was, since he liked his beauty sleep and probably had got some after completely destroying Al. He called out, "Uh, hey? Thanks for letting me crash at your place, even though I came here to beat you up."  
There was no response, so he went in. He was surprised to find no sleeping England, and no awake-but-ignoring-him England. God, was he in the kitchen? Was that why he had kept him around? God, please let him not be in the kitchen.

After rushing over, Al was relived to find there was no psychotic Englishman making suspicious baked goods. But, that was still odd. Those were the two places he would've been, no matter what. He decided to take a risk.  
"Hey, where the fuck are you?"  
Astonishingly, there was no pissed-but-trying-to-hide it England replying by telling him to put money in the swear jar. This really was strange. Was he out of the house? No nation in their right mind would leave another in their personal home.

Maybe he was just really absorbed in some task. Al growled, "You better show yourself, fucker. I wanna leave this shithole."  
Two swears in one sentence. He was really pushing England's good graces, if he was still in the house. But, there was no clearly-enraged-but-still-trying-to-hide-it response, or a sudden knife being plunged into his flesh.  
So, he continued the search. Maybe another nation had come and beat England up, and the thought disturbed him. The only nations who could be capable of such a feat were Italy and Hong Kong. Maybe Egypt if she was angry enough, though that was unlikely. Hell, considering what he had been able to do centuries ago, Al really wouldn't be surprised if Australia had done it.  
He didn't particularly like any of the above options.

When he peeked into the bathroom, he frowned. There were mirror shards littering the floor, but that could be for any reason, so that wasn't what caught his eyes. Not only was the mirror completely rid of any shards still connected to it, the back of it even seemed to have been cut out, showing the wallpaper behind it. Whoever he had messed up the mirror had really put in a lot of effort into it. He kneeled down and picked up one of the shards, not minding as his fingers were cut by the sharp edges. He looked into it, as if his reflection could give any answer to where England was.  
He furrowed his eyebrows. For a second, he was certain he had seen his reflection change, to have a different appearance to him, with a black background. But now it was back to normal.

Al tossed the shard at the wall, then turned and left the room. So now he was seeing things.

\---

(1) The pavlova is a dessert dish, very important to both Australian and Kiwi culture. There has been a very long debate on whether it originated in Australia or New Zealand, and while the current evidence points to New Zealand, it's rather complicated. While the term 'pavlova' was first used in a cookbook from New Zealand, there is evidence that other countries still used the recipe before it was called that.  
(2) This annotation just serves as a warning. From now on, the story will switch from 1p and 2p worlds without clarifying, and since the nations have the same names as their counterparts in this story, it may be confusing. Keep on your toes and watch out for strange personalities, weird circumstances, and generally messed up things happening. There will be no further warnings after this one.


	4. One Good Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italy is home late. Australia makes pavlova. New Zealand takes the ferry. The reflection cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late! I've already written up to Chapter 6, so I should probably be updating more regularly.  
> Thanks to the people who left comments, it really helps. I kinda forgot I was publishing this for a short period of time until I got notifications in my inbox.
> 
> **Warning: This chapter features SEVERE physical, verbal, and psychological abuse between siblings. Please don't read if you aren't comfortable with this.**

Shattered Reflections (Rewrite)  
Chapter 4 - One Good Day

(THE NIGHT BEFORE)

Italy would be home late.  
The mantra was repeated over and over in Romano's head, in the fear that he might forget. He doubted that he ever would, but he did anyway, just to be safe. There hadn't been any other specifications beyond that, so he didn't know how to effectively adjust his schedule so he would be just finishing up his final chore when Italy came through the door. Maybe he could just linger on it until he heard the lock click open, but that was risky, as if Italy caught him slacking it would not end well.  
He checked the clock, which told him it was 3:28. It was 32 minutes until Italy's normal time when he got home, and he guessed hesitantly that 'late' meant one or two more hours, judging by when this sort of thing had happened before.  
Compulsively, Romano went to check the chore list on the fridge once again. He could basically recite it after looking at it so much throughout the day, but he always needed to make sure he wasn't missing anything.

_'Buy groceries_  
Clean bathroom  
Clean kitchen  
Unpack and fill dishwasher  
Sew torn suit  
Reorganise library  
Do laundry' 

Luckily, he had completed all of them except for the last one. He had yet another pang that he had already been assigned for grocery day. Now he would have to wait a whole other week until he got to leave the house again. But, he just had to enjoy it while he could and not think overly much of it afterwards. His mind should be dedicated to worrying about what he should do about the 'late' situation. He slowly approached the laundry basket, wondering about how slowly he should be going. Not too slowly, obviously, in fear that he wouldn't be done by the time Italy got home, but not too quickly as to be still doing a bit of work when Italy gets home. He didn't want him to think that's he slacking off.

Eventually, he just decided to stall. He did all the laundry and folded it all, while quietly singing to himself. Italy wouldn't know, and though it make him thoroughly uncomfortable to do any sort of rebellion, it really was the only thinking keeping him sane. He didn't really listen to much music, and found that he was quietly repeating the Italian national anthem to himself.  
Once there was only one piece of clothing left to fold, he placed his hands on it and quietly waited. When Italy was coming, he would let him watch as he folded it, so it was clear that had done all his work, but hadn't been slacking off after finishing too early.  
He glanced at the clock. 5:23.

Italy really could be home any minute now. Hopefully he would be, so he would have enough time to make dinner. Wait, what if he wasn't home before dinner? What if Romano spent all his precious time sitting here with the laundry when he should've been making dinner? What if Italy got angry at him for taking too long with the laundry? He felt his doubts creep up on him, and he tried to stop shaking. He'd wait just a bit longer, maybe, and then begin to make dinner if he wasn't home yet. When the clock reached 6, he decided to fold and put away the final piece of clothing, and began to make spaghetti.

Other than buying groceries, cooking was Romano's favourite chore, because it was something that he would actually choose to do. He loved the way food smelled as it was cooked, and experimenting with it on days where he was feeling daring. As he continued the task, he eventually sunk into a comfortable, happy mood. All his worries about Italy being 'late' disappeared as he made each individual element. When he was finally done, he looked up at the clock. 6:47.  
...Oh no.  
Italy always ate at 6:30. If he was still out, that meant he had eaten at a restaurant. That meant he had made this food for no reason. That meant that Italy would be angry at him for wasting food, and…

Romano took shallow, shaky breaths, trying to control his trembling hands. He couldn't just throw this away, either, because on grocery days Italy always checked if he had bought the exact amount of food. And then he'd see that the pasta ingredients were missing, and would get angry at him for messing up his chores, and…  
Of course, he could eat it himself. But then Italy would see that he had eaten was only meant for him, and he would get especially angry for thinking of himself at all, and…  
Any option was not going to end well. He just decided to go for the first, because he thought that maybe the punishment would be the most mild. A misunderstanding was better than a mistake or a full-on act of selfishness, right? Yes, this was going to be okay. His punishment would be the mildest that he could have in this situation, so he just had to suck it up and take it. He couldn't cry about it, either, because it wouldn't be the worst that Italy was able to dish out at him.

He just stood in front of it, waiting. At 7:14, he heard the door unlock, and saw Italy come into the room.  
Italy saw what his brother had done, and marched towards him, seething in rage, "Che cazzo è?" (1)  
"I-I'm sorry, Italy. I didn't know what you meant when you said you were coming home late, I didn't think it was going to be beyond 6:30."  
His eyes narrowed in further anger, "How the hell did you misunderstand that? Late would mean I'm eating out! Vaffanculo (2), look at this waste of food!"  
Romano tried his best not to flinch back or run away, "I-I'm sorry. I won't do it again, Italy."  
"Yeah, yeah, whatever! Well, I guess to make up for this food waste, you're not eating tonight," he snarled.  
His brother nodded, trying to remain as inoffensive as possible.

Suddenly, Italy shoved the pasta off the bench, and the bowl shattered on the ground, leaving sharp shards and spaghetti messily spilled on the floor. On instinct, Romano jumped at the noise, and his brother raised an eyebrow, "You're afraid of such a little thing? Maybe I should show you what to really fear."  
"N-No!" he sputtered out, and tried to back away only to trip over. He landed on the destroyed meal, hands being sliced by the shards. Italy scoffed, "Coglione (3)."  
Then he did it. He pulled out one of his knives, and performed a too-familiar technique.  
Wrist, wrist, neck.

He was only dead for a few minutes. When he opened his eyes, still laying on the floor, he saw his blood being mixed with the pasta.  
Italy was already on the couch, watching something on the TV, smoking a cigar. When he heard the other coughing from the thick smoke, he called out, "Clean that up. Then go to sleep."  
Romano nodded limply, even though his brother wasn't looking. He stood up, shaking, and cleaned the mess on the floor as quickly as he could. When he was done, he got the approval from Italy, and shuffled out of the room to lie in his bed.  
He had said he wouldn't cry because of the punishment, but tears were rolling down his cheeks anyway.

He didn't know how much time had passed, since there was no clock on his room, but some time into the night he heard a knock on the window.  
A relief went through him when he saw Germany and Japan on the other side, the former holding a delicious-looking wrapped sandwich. As quietly as he could, he opened the window and let them in, and they went to sit on the floor as Romano wiped the tears from his eyes.  
Germany held out the sandwich and he gratefully accepted it. He began to talk as Romano ate, "Italy got us to come for dinner tonight, and we thought that it would result in you not eating. So…"  
When he had finished as quickly as he could, he replied, "T-Thank you… I didn't."  
He was grateful to both of them for risking so much to see him. Especially Japan, sacrificing some of his only free time. Judging by the thick bags under his eyes, he hadn't had a break recently.

Japan said softly, "We also came for another reason."  
Romano replied with a curious, "Hm?"  
"Well, we know how much you suffer every day. And though we try to see you as much as we can, it really isn't that much of a relief. So, we wanted to give you something else, something good," Germany told him, in that tone of voice he always used around him. While his voice was usually very kind, this one was even more so, with a comforting undertone that made him feel safe.  
Japan stood up and gestured to the window, "We want to give you one good day."  
"One good day?"  
Germany nodded, also standing up, "We want to talk you out of this house, for just one day."  
The Italian made a sort of horrified noise, "B-But Italy will know, a-and then he's going to punish me-"  
Surprisingly, Japan interrupted him, "This is just an offer. You never get to live, and it's horrible. If you come with us, you can have one day where you can be truly happy. Where you don't have to worry about him. If you're willing to deal with the punishment for that, then come with us."  
This made Germany smile softly, sadly, and he quietly held out his hand, "You don't have to come if you don't want to."

Romano looked back on his life. He remembered all the hurt Italy had caused him. He remembered all the tears he had shed because of his brother, all the things he had missed out on. They all seemed to blend into each other, a horrible mess.  
But he didn't think he had any good days. The only times he had probably felt happy were when Germany and Japan tried to help him a little, or when he got through the day without being hurt. He thought that maybe, if he had one day were he could truly be happy, where he could enjoy himself, it would stick out from the rest, it would definitely be the best day of his life. And the punishment afterwards would blur into the rest, so he wouldn't really mind.  
He just needed one good day. So, he took Germany's hand.

\---

(A FEW HOURS BEFORE)

"So you'll be there by 3, right?"  
"Yep. Go on, then!"

Australia grinned almost wickedly as he watched New Zealand bike away. Their experience on Rotto had so far been a complete success, which was good considering what happened last time he had taken him somewhere - Cradle Mountain. Those poor, poor Tasmanian Devils. (4)  
But, it would be hard to win in comparison where New Zealand had taken him last. Man, Australia liked Lord of the Rings, but only after that had he really learned how to appreciate it by going to filming locations beyond Hobbiton. He and a smug Kiwi had binged all of the extended editions immediately afterwards, with both of them talking about their own experiences in the places that came up on the screen.  
Goddamn, he just couldn't win, could he? New Zealand's place was so pretty, and so culturally rich, and just generally pretty great. Basically Australia's only advantage was that his place was bigger.

He stopped pondering their bet and decided to actually do what he had stayed behind for. Pavlova, made by himself to shove it in Zea's face. He wasn't going to let their war end, historical evidence be damned.  
He put on some music as he began to make it. This was going to be the best damn pavlova ever created. When New Zealand tried it, he would cry tears of absolute joy and finally declare Australia as the king of this particular dessert food. It was going to be awesome.

When he was finally done, he stared at his creation with a judgemental eye. Okay, so maybe this wasn't the best pavlova ever created. And it wasn't like it was his fault, he was used to this kitchen or the equipment inside it. But, it was still reasonably good, so it didn't really matter. Zea would probably still be impressed, and they could eat it for dessert after they had gone snorkelling and eaten dinner out on the beach, probably getting sand everywhere, including their food. He had a satisfied smile, then, as he tossed all the equipment he had used into the sink to clean up later. It was when he grabbed the last item, the reflective bowl, that he saw something strange.

It was reflecting his surroundings, only showing black, and he saw someone like, but much unlike, himself within.  
It had his face, that much was clear. He wasn't a narcissistic person, but he could recognise what he looked like. But that was just about where the similarities ended. Its skin tone was a bit darker than his, and its eyes were so brown he could swear they were black. Its hair was also darker than his, and choppily cut as if whoever had done it had been in a hurry. It had many more clearly visible scars than him, since Australia only had one that he covered with a band-aid. It wore light summer clothes, but also had a sheath on its arm that he realised with great dismay held small knives.

"Wha- Who are you?" Jett asked.  
Its former neutral expression was replaced by surprise, and it said in an Australian accent, "I'd like to hear that from you first. Are you some sort of magical creature? Why have you taken my face?"  
"Huh? I'm not any creature. Hey, why have you taken mine?"  
Australia stared at it in suspicion for a few seconds, it returning the gesture. This was very, very new. Was this a trick of his eyes? What was happening? Was someone messing with his mind?

He reached out to touch it, almost to see if it was real, and was surprised to find that the metal bent to the shape of his fingers and they were going in. But, it was with horror that he realised he couldn't pull them back out, and that it was _pulling him in_.  
"H-Hey! What the hell? What are you doing?"  
The reflection, that was being distorted with his arm that was now embedded in it, seemed just as surprised as he did, even scared.  
He could barely comprehend it when, all too quickly, his entire body was pulled into the reflection.

\---

(PRESENT)

There was still no contact from Australia. New Zealand had an unsettled feeling deep in his gut, seemingly being caused by the entire situation. He didn't know why this was happening. He didn't know the cause of his changing reflection, or the fixing of his leg, or his messed up memory. He was still trying to keep his mind off the topic, because every time he tried to look back it felt like everything was splitting in half.  
He gazed into the water, somewhat relieved not to see a different version of himself. He watched the white surf and the ripples caused by the ferry, and lost himself in the loud noise of the engine and the wind whipping around him.

It wouldn't be long until he got back to the mainland, and then he would get to Perth airport and fly up to London. He hoped that answers lay there, and that he would stop accidentally causing strange phenomena. Whatever this magic that he held, which he was fairly certain England had called 'the magic touch', he didn't want it. It seemed too messy, too complicated, and he didn't want to have to deal with it despite the fact it could make things easier in some circumstances. Even though his leg could now walk and run and hold his weight, he would've just preferred it healing normally. It felt like all the magic he used would somehow result in a debt, that he would have to pay no matter the consequences.  
He doubted that was how it worked, but that was the general feeling he got whenever he used it.

New Zealand looked around. Everyone was still in the inside area of the ferry. Earlier, he had accidentally used it in a wish to be left alone, but now he really felt like he wanted more people around him. He wondered if he could undo magic. He still didn't really know how to use it at will, and it happened almost spontaneously, but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He willed the people to come back. He didn't want to be alone anymore. He wanted people to be around him. He used all the feelings he thought he had felt before, all the times he had used it.  
With a slight hope, he opened his eyes. He was still alone.

He sighed and wondered if he should try going inside again. Last time he had tried, it had just made everyone go outside. In this circumstance, he really did want company, even if it was the company of humans who had no idea he was a nation, let alone all the strange things that were happening to him.  
Instead, he closed his eyes again and tried to use his magic. He wanted them to come back, he craved for them to return, he desired for them to give him company yet again. It wasn't that hard, was it? He screwed his eyes tighter and kept trying.  
He desired to be among others again. He required their presence. God, what was he even saying?  
New Zealand wis-

His thought was interrupted by someone suddenly pushing him off the railing. He tumbled off the side of the ferry, landing with a splash in the water below. He fought his way to the surface, trying to get back to the ferry, trying to get a glimpse of who had pushed him. When he looked, nobody was there, like it had been before, nobody could've pushed him. And there was nobody there to see him fall, to help him get back on.  
He swam as fast as he could towards the ferry, using all his strength. He got close, so close, and his fingers brushed the back of the boat, but he had no way to get on and it quickly outpaced him. He kept swimming, but soon the ferry was almost out of sight.

Kaelin panted, trying to get a grip on himself. He was treading water, no longer swimming so not to waste his energy. Since he was a nation, his endurance was better than a normal human, but it wouldn't last that long. His legs were already slightly aching, so he needed to get to land, fast.  
He looked all around him, but all he saw was ocean. He wasn't sure how far he was in comparison to Rotto and the mainland, and while he knew which direction the ferry had headed, he was quickly losing his bearings. This wasn't good. Drowning was pretty much the worst way a nation could die, because when you opened your eyes again, you were still underwater and still drowning. He had heard stories of nations who had spent days in the water, drowning and reviving and drowning, until finally someone found them or they washed up on some shore.

He'd just have to swim after the ferry. Hopefully, he wasn't too far from the mainland, and he could get there before he started drowning. It was a fair chance, considering his endurance, and it was also his only option. So, he began to swim, not too quickly as to wear him down, but quickly enough to get there fast enough. His limbs began to ache as he continued, but he didn't let that stop him. He still couldn't see the mainland, but he had to get there eventually.  
Everything turned into a haze of his hurting body, sea spray, and his clouded mind. He had to make it. He had to. Why did this have to happen now, among everything else? Why did he have to drown now?

Soon, the exhaustion became too much for him. Soon, he felt his limbs become weak, and he no longer swam, and simply fought to stay above the surface. He could barely keep his head above the water, barely breathe, as he desperately struggled to stay afloat.  
Kaelin's body failed, and he sunk below the surface, watching in horror as the bright sun was masked by a curtain of rippling water. He felt the water fill his lungs as he desperately needed air, trying to break the surface, desperately trying to survive. This couldn't happen, not now. He needed to get to England, and then he'd finally know what to do.  
But it was clear that wasn't going to happen in a while. As he drifted away, New Zealand wished that somebody would save him.

\---

The reflection stared at them as if they were the murderers. With its eyes wide and lips trembling, it was the exact opposite picture that England had expected. It seemed to be slowly inching back from them, as if even being in their proximity would somehow harm it.  
The four others in the room simply stared back, unsure of what to do. They had not expected this situation at all, instead thinking they would have to fight or run or restrain the reflection. But it didn't seem like it was about to attack, or that it was going to brutally murder them.  
Frowning, Scotland tried to approach it.

It yelped in fear and shuffled backwards, easily taking off the measly restraints England had put on it. When Alasdair didn't stop, it backed itself against the other side of the room, trembling, "A-Ah… Don't… Hurt me…"  
It was with shock that Scotland, now closer to the reflection, could see that tears were welling up in its eyes. He quickly retreated, and it relaxed visibly when he did, though it still seemed terrified.

He went up to his siblings, and whispered to them, "What should we do? He doesn't look like he's about to kill us."  
"Maybe the other Norway was lying?" Niamh suggested, keeping her eyes on the reflection, which still wasn't moving except for fearful tremors.  
"Or he's putting on an act to trick us," Seamus offered, also keeping his gaze on it.  
Arthur frowned, studying it carefully. He had seen acts of cowardice before, and its fear seemed very genuine. It was the complete opposite of the terrifying thing that had attacked him before. Could it really have had such a change of heart? It had only been unconscious. The only thing that was different in the circumstances was the fact that his siblings were with him.  
"Hold on a second," he told them.

They looked at him in shock and concern as he approached it. Like he suspected, it didn't seem scared of him at all, only of his siblings. It even seemed to be considering something, and when England got close enough, it ran towards him. Quickly, it turned him around to face the other direction, stopping him in his tracks, and hid behind him, almost cowering.  
"Okay, so I know that you and I had a little fight earlier but no hard feelings and you can use magic so please don't let them hurt me."  
England blinked. So did Scotland, Ireland and Northern Ireland. Now the reflection was apologising and begging for protection? And from Arthur's siblings, no less? If the other Norway could be trusted, it had killed its own version of them, so they didn't know why it would be so afraid.

Arthur felt its trembling fingers grasping onto him like a lifeline. He heard its shaky, shallow breaths, thick with panic. He saw how its entire body shook and shuddered, and he decided that it had to be genuine fear. He had been scared, many, many times in his life, and in some strange way, he saw himself in the way its hands were beginning to become clammy.  
"...We're not going to hurt you - they're not going to hurt you. Unless you attack first," England said, cautiously.  
Slowly, it looked up at the person it was using as a shield, "...Who are you, again?"  
He sighed, "England."  
"But I'm England!" it said indignantly, fear seemingly less prominent.

"I think we can just settle with the fact you're both England," Alasdair said dryly. He was trying his best to seem unamused, but he was clearly curious about the situation, and completely without a sense of self preservation. The reflection yelped yet again and hid further behind England, fear coming back even more severely than before.  
Seamus was similar, and crossed his arms, "Look, I don't know why you're scared of us, but we won't hurt you unless you try to hurt us. You can have it on my word that you'll stay unharmed as long as you remain passive."  
Slowly, it peeked its head to see from behind England's back, "...How are you here? I-I… You… Dead…"  
It seemed to take a lot of effort just to choke out those words, and tears were beginning to fall down its face. England's shirt was getting wet with the tears soaking into it.

Niamh raised an eyebrow, the only one in the room trying to be cautious, scared of what the reflection would do if it felt its life was at risk, "You killed us, right?"  
This made it squawk yet again, and hide behind England yet again. He had half a mind to pry it off him, but the extent to his genuine fear made him hesitate, wondering if he should be feeling sorry for the reflection. From behind Arthur, it spoke again, "I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't hurt me, I-I didn't want to kill you, not permanently, I didn't want to, it was a mistake, please don't hurt m-me."  
The tremors were growing more and more severe, and he could swear he could hear its teeth chattering, like in some cartoon. But there was nothing cartoonish or amusing about the situation, and it being brought to life in such a way gave Arthur an uneasy feeling.

He decided to just tell what they thought was happening in an effort to calm it down, "Look, I don't know why you're scared of your siblings, but this isn't them. We haven't quite figured it out yet, but one of our theories is that you're in an alternate dimension. So they're completely different people, and you don't have to worry. They haven't been brought back to life or anything."  
This took the reflection by surprise. Cautiously, it peeked out its head again to look at them, "...You're not my siblings? You're different from them? So you're not going to hurt me?"  
Alasdair seemed annoyed by all this explanation, obvious at least to him, "Yes, we're different people. We've never seen you before in our lives, and as we have clarified multiple times, we hold no intent to hurt you."

It frowned, still seemingly scared. Then, it looked up at England again, "So, if this an alternate dimension, then you're me… T-Tell me, do they hurt you?"  
England had been hurt by his siblings many times before. Most notably were the wars they had fought against each other, but they weren't as prominent. As a nation, he had grown to expect that, and didn't hold it against anyone who had hurt him in that manner. But, they had also hurt him personally before, in many ways. Those were the times that truly stuck with him, that made him worry. Differentiating being hurt as a nation and being hurt as a person helped in the former scenario, but it also hurt far more when someone actually tried to hurt someone personally.

But he doubted it was as complicated as that for this reflection, he really did. There was something very basic, something very simple, in the way it had said it. As if hurting didn't refer to harming someone, but rather an act, an act that was repeated. Just the notion of that instilled something uncomfortable in him, and as he looked into genuinely fearful eyes, he once again wondered if he should be feeling sorry for the reflection who had formerly attacked him.  
There was a simple answer to the question, at least how England perceived it. So he replied with, "No, they don't hurt me."  
It nodded slowly, still fearful, but contemplating something. Then, it let go of Arthur, stepping out and looking properly at the people who hadn't hurt him.

\---

(1), (2), (3) All of them are Italian swears, none of them very nice. Since I'm not Italian, they may not be accurate, so please correct me if you can speak Italian and you have a suggestion of how to change it to better fit the situation, a correction on a misspelt word, etc.  
(4) Cradle Mountain is a mountain in Tasmania, and the home of many Tasmanian Devils. You can see them in close proximity in the wild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, Italy and Romano are speaking in English in this chapter except for the Italian words. This will be explained later on.  
> Thank you for reading!


	5. The Unwelcome Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Australia talks to himself, Zea saves himself, Denmark wants attention, and a switch is flipped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, beautiful readers!  
> I'm sorry this is so painfully late! I actually updated on ff.net but forgot to on here...  
> Please enjoy nevertheless!

Shattered Reflections (Rewrite)  
Chapter 5 - The Unwelcome Calls

(A FEW HOURS BEFORE, CONT.)

With his eyes closed to brace himself, the first thing that Australia noticed was the heat. He was far used to warmth, of course, but he had just been in reasonably mild heat for his country, and now it was like he was right in the summer solstice. It was unexpected, and he snapped open his eyes. Then, the second thing he noticed was his surroundings.  
He was no longer in the kitchen, and rather a room he had never seen before. He thought that maybe it could be a bedroom, but there was so many things in the room that he could barely comprehend what the room's purpose was. He pushed himself off the floor with his arm, standing up, and saw the other person in the room. It was the reflection he had seen before, the one with his face.

Eyes wide, it slowly backed away, "How…?"  
He stared back at it, trying not to panic, "Uh… Um… Hey, I don't know how or why I'm here or who you are or why you have my face, so if you know then it would be great if you'd explain."  
Fake-him shook its head, "I don't know, and if you don't know then it seems we might be in a lot of trouble. Tell me, who are you?"  
"...Jett. My surname is Kelly. I'm Jett Kelly," he choked out.  
The fake-him blinked, and opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. It took it a few seconds to actually speak, "...But that's my name. My name is Jett Kelly."

What? Well, Jett wasn't _that_ surprised, it made sense that his creepy reflection would creepily have his name in this creepy room, but he still really didn't feel like he had any idea what was going on. They stared at each other, as he tried to see if they were suspicious at all, and most probably vice versa. Eventually, fake-him said, "Look, we're not going to solve this issue by looking at each other. I am knowledgeable in magic, possibly I can find out what's going on."  
"M-Magic?" he said. He didn't believe in anything like that, but in his situation it was becoming plausible. Really, if this thing knew anything about it, he would be thankful.  
"Are you not aware of that? Well, what I know in magic is not too much considering the extent of the practice, so… While I've never considered it before, I think there is a possibility of an alternate universe?"

Jett held up a hand to his forehead, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. So my pavlova bowl has taken me to another dimension?"  
"I don't know what a pavlova is, but I suppose so," fake-Jett said, "To determine if this theory is really true… Well… Firstly, is that name of yours an alias?"  
He didn't know what it was getting at, but answered, "...Yes, it is."  
It stepped towards him, and he instinctively backed away, which made it stop. It frowned, and said, "So, is your real name… Australia?"  
This particular statement took him by surprise, but there would be no use in lying, so he nervously replied, "Yes."  
Like it was suspecting that, fake-Jett said, "This probably does involve alternate dimensions, then. After all, I'm Australia too."

Before Jett could reply, it continued, "Just… Sit down on my bed. I'll get some materials, and maybe I can figure out how to get you back."  
"Wait! W-What's even going on? Can we at least talk this over? Or discuss how I got here? Or even come up with ways to refer to each other since we have the same name?" he said frantically. All of this was happening too quickly, he could barely process it.  
"...Let's just keep it simple. You can stay Jett, and you can just refer to me by my last name. I'll be Kelly," the newly dubbed Kelly said, eyeing him.  
Jett didn't particularly want to argue, or ask for more answers, considering the look he was being given, so he just sat down on the bed as instructed. Kelly nodded strode off.

While waiting, Jett tried to distract himself from his immense confusion and panic by looking around the room. The bed he was sitting on strangely had no covers, just two pillows that seemed uncomfortably flat. It also seemed pristine and untouched, so either it was never used or it was perfectly made for whatever reason. In fact, pretty much everything in the entire room looked like it was never used. The chest of drawers had a thick layer of dust on it, as did the wardrobe, which disconcerted him. Even the side table seemed like it was immaculate, with a lamp, closed book, and empty glass placed almost strategically to make the room seem lived-in, but the dust on top of it told another story. It was like he had stepped into some display.  
The only things in the room that looked anything more than brand new were a punching bag and a few weights strewn across the floor. The punching bag was falling apart, and as someone who had one, Jett knew that was no easy feat. The weights were tossed around as if they extremely light, and when he tried to pick one up, he was rather impressed with how heavy it was.

Once he was finished looking around, Jett just tried to wait patiently, though it was difficult for him. He kept wanting to pry at all the things in the room, but he didn't know if he would be able to return them to an untouched state, so he stopped himself. Finally, Kelly came back, and held in his arms a ridiculous amount of books and sheets of paper.  
He shoved a piece of paper into Jett's hands and said, "Read this, tell me if it mentions anything similar to alternate dimensions."  
Jett looked down at it, and frowned to see it was in a language he didn't identify. He looked closer, and with a cold, sinking feeling he realised that it was one of his Indigenous languages, an extinct one he no longer understood. No matter how hard he looked at the words they didn't make sense in his head, despite the fact that he knew he had known it before. It gave him an uncomfortable, sickly feeling, reminded so suddenly about the bitterness he still held.  
"...I can't read this," Jett said.

Kelly was looking through many similar documents, "You have to, we need to find out if alternate universes are recorded and hopefully find the information to-"  
"No, I literally can't read this. I don't understand the language," Jett said, more quietly then before.  
The other nation paused, then turned to look at him, "You don't understand this? It's quite common, I'm sure there's just too many strange terms you haven't encountered. Look closer."  
He shook his head, "Really, I can't! Just give me something else."  
Though he sighed, Kelly took the paper from him and replaced it with something else. He looked intensely at it, and he didn't understand this one, either. The sensation it was giving him was one he had experienced before, one that he didn't enjoy. It was like nostalgia for a time that he couldn't remember, only just beyond the edges of what he knew.

Without looking at Kelly, he gave it back, "I can't read this one as well."  
He crossed his arms, "You aren't lying, are you? To get out of doing work?"  
"No! I… I'm sure I'll understand the next one," he said, almost begging for one of his languages that he could read.  
A skeptical look was sent his way, but he was still given yet another sheet. Before he looked at it, Jett hoped, desperately, that he would be able to know what it was saying. When he looked down, he didn't understand a word. This was especially sent a shockwave of not-nostalgia through him, and he felt his hands beginning to shake. His throat felt thick with grief as he tried to control his emotions.  
When he didn't say anything for a little while, Kelly said, "Well? Are you reading it?"

Jett placed the paper down on the bed, and replied with, "No. I can't."  
The other sighed, "I'm not sure why you don't understand these. You are me, after all, or a different version of me. In this world, Australia is famous for being one country but having over 100 languages… Is that not the same for you?"  
He shook his head, "I really only speak English. I vaguely know some of my Indigenous languages, but not as many as I'd like."  
Kelly frowned, "Really…? Well, you must know some. We can just look for one that you do."  
He nodded slowly, and they began combing through all the documents. Jett felt something clawing at his stomach as he saw pages and pages of words he didn't understand. He was feeling something that was all too common with him, the feeling that something very important about him was missing. That it had been taken away so many years ago, and that he would never be able to get it back.

After a few minutes, Kelly sighed, "Maybe this just won't work. Look, I'll read them and you can do something else."  
Feeling especially useless, Jett asked, "Like what?"  
"I-I don't know. Just, sit there. Don't be a nuisance," was the reply. He looked down at his hands, and saw them continue to tremble, and tried to make them stop by gripping them together.  
In an attempt to distract himself, he looked up in the hopes something around the room would catch his eye. But, what he saw was one of the sheets of paper. It had one of his languages hastily scrawled on it like all the rest of them, but there was difference with this one.  
He grabbed it, and the other nation gave him a questioning look. He said, "I think I can read this one."  
Looking relieved, Kelly replied, "Go ahead."

Jett looked through it. It was Enindhilyagwa (1), and though he didn't know too much, there were still a considerable amount of his people who could speak it. Over one thousand. Therefore, he knew the meanings to some of the words. He wasn't fluent in it, and he didn't understand many of the words, but it was a starting point. At least he knew a little, just a little more about who he was.  
It didn't mention alternate dimensions, but the words were more important than he could describe.

\---

When New Zealand was drowning for the fourth time, somebody finally saved him. He didn't see who they were in the confusion, but he felt someone's arms grab his struggling body, and swim with him in their arms. He stopped flailing in his effort to reach the surface, instead entrusting his life to a complete stranger, or at least someone he didn't know the identity of.  
Things became hazy and dream-like. He didn't know how long someone was swimming him to shore, but it should've been too long for any normal human. But he didn't particularly mind, he wanted his life to be saved, and didn't mind if they were human, nation, or something entirely different.

He finally felt his body being dragged to shore, and sand against his cheek. The person dropped him onto what was presumably a beach, and it took Kaelin a few minutes to regain his strength enough to open his eyes.  
Sure enough, he was on the beach, somewhere near where the ferry would've arrived at the mainland. But, despite the fact it was the middle of the day in Australian summer, there was nobody as far as he could see, with only the sound of the waves and the swaying of the bushland plants further up the beach. That was, until his eyes settled on someone, crouching on the wet sand. They wore a soaking wet suit with the bowtie undone, one dress shoe, with the other missing, and was staring at a drenched packet of cigarettes in their hand. He not-so-quickly realised that they had a resemblance to him, and then remembered the reflection he had seen earlier.  
Great, England had warned him about letting the reflection into his world.

As he tried to prop himself up, coughing from the seawater which had filled his lungs, he glanced over to him. He seemed indifferent, bored even, despite the fact he had just saved him from drowning. The reflection stared at him for a few seconds, before saying, "...Hello. Where are we?"  
It took him a few seconds for Kaelin to process the words, since he was speaking in Māori. He met few people outside of his home who spoke the language, and even less who spoke it when first meeting somebody. He spent a little too long thinking of that, and realised he was just giving the reflection a blank stare, who said, in English this time, "Do you not speak-"  
"No, no, I can," New Zealand interrupted, making the switch between languages.  
The reflection changed to Māori again, "Good. We must be outside my home, so there are fewer people who speak Te Reo (2) here. Which brings me back to my question - where are we?"

Kaelin wondered how he had gotten here. Had he made some mistake? What had he done to let him arrive? He had been as careful as he could. But, there would be no good outcome if he didn't answer the question, so he replied with, "Somewhere on the west coast of Australia. On a beach, it seems."  
The reflection widened his eyes, "Australia…? No, don't lie to me. This looks nothing like the coast of Australia."  
New Zealand managed to sit up from where he was lying, "Well, either you've never been, or you're sorely mistaken. This is very much Australia, you can trust me. I've been on these beaches too many times to count."  
The other man stared at him for a few seconds, and then sighed and took out a cigarette from the completely wrecked packet. Kaelin frowned and said, "That won't work. They're wet."

He was ignored, and was surprised to see the cigarette suddenly became dry, the moisture coming off it in the form of water vapour. Then, the end was spontaneously lit, and the reflection began to smoke. Kaelin stared for a bit, before looking away and forgetting it. This definitely wasn't the strangest thing that had happened all day, so he just let it pass.  
When the smoke reached him, it made him cough, which wasn't particularly helpful to someone who had recently drowned four times. He wrinkled his nose at it. He didn't particularly like cigarettes or the people who smoked them.  
"Can you wait until I've recovered from drowning?" he asked, trying not to cough again at the smoke.  
The reflection eyed him, "Well, maybe I'd like to calm down. After all, I just appeared in this random ocean, saw this guy drowning next to me, and then swum him the significant distance to shore."

He looked as calm as he could possibly be, but Kaelin didn't mention that, instead following up on something else, "You just appeared in the ocean? Who are you, anyway? What's your name?"  
"Yes, I did. I'm used to magic, but not to this extent. And for your knowledge, my name is Kaelin Takahi." (3)  
New Zealand scrunched up his face, "Kaelin Takahi? That's my name…"  
He really didn't expect much else from a reflection, though. In fact, he may be more confused if he had a different name from him.  
Other-Kaelin looked at him in surprise, and Kaelin said, "Before we talk about how weird all of this is, because I'm sure we can find an explanation, should we make it easier to refer to each other, since we have the same name? Give each other nicknames, or something?"  
The immediate reply was, "You're Kae, I'm Lin."

It was simple enough, and made enough sense though it was a little cheesy, so Kae said, "Sure. Anyway, we should talk about-"  
He stopped talking when he suddenly went into a coughing fit, mostly likely due to what he had just experienced and the smoke he was inhaling. Despite his indifference, Lin looked slightly concerned, and even said, "Are you okay?"  
Kae smiled at him, "Yeah, I think I'm fine now."  
Lin opened his mouth, about to say something, before suddenly, he disappeared. Kae stared as his eyes tried to process what had just happened. Lin was just _gone_ , even though he had been there a second before. It wasn't like he had never been there, either. Kae realised this as he saw that there were prints in the sand from where he had sat and the smoke from his cigarette was still drifting in the air.

His mind tried to understand what had just happened. All too quickly, Lin had been there, and then he hadn't.  
New Zealand looked around the deserted beach to find that he was now alone. Shaking slightly, he took out his phone, staring at the broken screen. He wanted to call England again. He was desperate for advice. God, he just wished for help, for someone in the same situation!  
Kae sighed in relief when his phone lit up, but then paused when he saw the person being called. It wasn't England, it wasn't even Norway or Romania - someone he never would've considered. It was Turkey, of all people.

\---

Really, Denmark wasn't _that_ clingy. It was just that he had a lot of compassion, and wanted to let the people around him know that he cared about them. That wasn't so bad, was it? And if he lived with said people, he'd expect to see them every day! He just wanted to make sure they were happy and healthy and such, and if they weren't he had to do something about it.  
He found different ways to do this with the other Nordics, whom he lived with. Finland was definitely the easiest, since he was all kind and generally liked to talk to people and hang out with them every day. Sweden could be harder to approach, and things could get awkward if the rivalry from their past came up, but when Denmark got into a conversation with him, they had _really good_ conversations. They got into morality stuff or talked about weird surreal stuff and basically a whole bunch of random topics, and it was always fulfilling.

Iceland was even more difficult to approach. Most of time, he'd hole himself up in his room listening to weird Icelandic music and reading dusty old books, or browsing the Internet. He was basically the angsty teenager of the bunch, despite the fact he was a lot older than many nations considered 'adult'. Maybe it was because he was sort of isolated from Europe, or he spent his time worrying about volcanoes or something. He really didn't know what happened in his country, other than weird Icelandic music being made. But, because he had to emerge from his room to eat food, Denmark could often sneak in a conversation. Unable to think of anything else, Iceland often talked about the complicated elements of the novel he was reading, and the other nation nodded along and pretended to understand what 'the foil of the deuteragonist' was.

Then, of course, there was Norway. Normally he'd be one of the easiest to talk to, since despite the fact he was constantly deadpan, he seemed to at least somewhat enjoy Denmark's company. Norway didn't tolerate people he didn't like (which Denmark had learnt rather thoroughly the first few centuries he knew him), so by the fact that he didn't mind being constantly blabbered to about random subjects was a win in his book. But, the hardest thing about him was actually having him talk back. Norway was the type of person perfectly content in letting someone ramble to him, and rarely ever actually said anything to contribute to the conversation. When Denmark obviously tried to get him to say something, he often just departed from the conversation and did secretive things on his laptop somewhere else. So he tried to stay content with what he would be given, and not to push his luck. And on some good days, Norway would join the conversation himself.

But today it seemed it would be harder for Denmark to even get the time to ramble he so desired, because Norway had decided to spontaneously become Iceland and lock himself in his room. He hadn't even come out for breakfast, which was absolutely preposterous. He wanted to make sure that his friends were getting their nutrition, so he was standing outside of Norway's room with a plate of bacon and eggs. Denmark knocked on the door, then said, "Hey, you've been a hermit all day and haven't eaten yet so I thought I'd bring you breakfast."  
There was no response, so he said again, "Uh, are you there?"  
Finally, he was replied to, "Yes, I am. Just leave the plate there. Outside the door. Don't come in."  
To his surprise, Norway had switched languages, speaking in Norwegian when Denmark had spoken in Danish. Usually, he would just speak in whatever language whoever he was talking to was, most probably for the minimal amount of effort.

Denmark placed the plate down outside of the door, and said, "Why don't you want me to come in? Have you turned into a monster or something? Ooo, will I be turned to stone if I look you in the eyes?"  
"No, no, uh, it's not like that. I just… I'm doing something magical. Something magical and dangerous you shouldn't get involved in. It's going to take me all day, so don't come in, or you'll, uh, be turned into a snail," was the reply.  
"Ha, your magic stuff? You can't threaten me with that! I'd love to be turned into a snail, in fact," Denmark boasted.  
Even through the door, he could tell it had taken Norway off-guard. Which was strange, he should be long used to the fact he didn't believe in all that weird stuff he did with 'mystical forces'.

"Just, don't come in. Please."  
Denmark was taken aback. He could tell that Norway's voice was quaking, which was preposterous, considering how Norway never showed emotion. Ever. Unless someone had harmed Iceland or had very, very badly hurt him or one of the other Nordics, he stayed as neutral as possible. Even the slight emotion that was showing in his voice was enough to set off many, many alarm bells in Denmark's head. Also, he seemed to be talking differently than normal, stumbling over his words far more than he normally would.  
Denmark said, "Seriously, are you okay? You sound… Upset. Did something happen? Really, what happened?"

"I'm perfectly fine. Just go," Norway instructed, the neutral tone completely overtaking his voice yet again. Denmark frowned in worry. He was definitely not okay, but there wouldn't be any luck in trying to convince him of spilling what was wrong from behind a locked door. So, he decided to go fetch Iceland. He surely would be concerned about him, and was Norway's only weakness! It was an ingenious plan, and also the only one he could think up in these circumstances.  
So he left, keeping the plate at the door in the hopes Norway would take it, and went over to Iceland's room. Through the door, he could hear the distant lack of music. Possibly he was watching a video of some sort.

Denmark knocked on the door, "Hey Icey, can I talk to you for a second?"  
The reply was immediate, "Now's really not a good time!"  
"I think it's an important-"  
He was very rudely interrupted, "No, I really don't think much is more important than what I'm doing right now! Come back later."  
The Dane frowned in indignation, though Iceland couldn't see it, "I really think this is important. Nor-"  
"Seriously, come back later! I'm not kidding, this is very, very important and you shouldn't interrupt me."  
No matter what he said after that, Denmark couldn't get through to Iceland. So he didn't care about his brother. Denmark growled in frustration and decided to go for his last two options, Finland or Sweden. Or both. He hoped they weren't doing shady things in their rooms, too.

\---

It was like a switch had been flipped. The reflection took a few seconds to wipe the tears from his eyes, and fix his hair. Then he suddenly reverted back to smiles and cheerfulness, "I'm awfully sorry about that!"  
Everyone stared at him in disbelief. Just a few seconds ago, he had been sobbing and begging for them not to hurt him, and now he was grinning as if all were right with the world. When they failed to reply to him, he just continued, "Now, you mentioned something about a parallel dimension? Maybe we should talk about that? See if it's true?"

Scotland gaped at him, "You can't just go on like that, after-"  
All prior fear seemingly gone, the reflection cut him off, "It's called a coping mechanism, sweetie, and you should do your best to respect that."  
He strode forward, and pushed past the four of them. He walked down the hallway and peeked into the kitchen, "Oh, I've made quite a mess, haven't I? I'm awfully sorry about that, I was in a bit of a huffy when I first got here."  
England frowned and marched up towards him, his siblings still staring, "A bit of a huffy? Why the bloody hell did you act like that?"  
Now that he wasn't crying, Arthur once again found his anger at the reflection. He pouted back, "As I said, I'm sorry. It was very rude of me. I see you still haven't recovered from those wounds… Hey, I can fix them right now!"

Not particularly trusting the reflection approaching him, Arthur immediately stepped back. He was given a strangely comforting smile, which made him pause for just a second, which was enough time for the reflection to grab his shoulder and spontaneously use magic. England exclaimed in shock as he felt the tingling sensation of magic running through his body, but he found that there was a warmth around his injuries and there were quickly healed. He stared at the reflection, who gave him a kind expression, "Is that better?"  
Only then grasping what had just happened, Arthur shoved the reflection's hand off his shoulder, backing up a few steps. Once again the reflection gave a ridiculous pout, "Hey, I just helped you! Meanie."

It was Northern Ireland who stepped forward to stand next to England, looking at the reflection with him, "You're the one who gave him the injuries in the first place. You shouldn't expect him to be grateful."  
Following her brother's lead, Ireland also stepped forward to stand on the other side of England, which made the hallway particularly cramped, "Yeah, you're the meanie here."  
The reflection seemed to hesitate for a second, then merely shrugged and half-skipped towards the kitchen. They followed him, and saw run in, clearly unperturbed by all the shredded food, and promptly started looking through England's teacup cabinet. Arthur crossed his arms, "What are you doing?"  
"Judging you. Hey, this is ugly," the reflection took out a teacup with a floral print, delicate and from at least a few centuries ago. Without a second thought, he tossed it behind him, and it smashed against the wall. Arthur made an indignant noise, "Hey! If you're trying to prove you're harmless, that's not going to do it."  
His counterpart shrugged, "Well, it was ugly. So's this one."

He took out another one with a similar pattern, and threw it against the wall as well. Growling, England marched forward into the kitchen, "I will not have you breaking my teacups!"  
"Well, what if it wasn't me?" he said, feigning innocence, still poking through the cabinets. Stopping before he stepped over the mess of food, Arthur crossed his arms, "It obviously is! You're right in front of me, and you're breaking them."  
The reflection didn't look at him, but seemed to smile slyly, "Yeah, it still might not have been me." (4)  
"Wh- God, I can't hold a coherent conversation with you," was the reply.

"Sounds like someone I know," Ireland said, walking up to him and leaning an arm on his shoulder, smirking. He shoved her off him before Northern Ireland did something similar. He had been in the hallway, but Scotland finally came into the kitchen, pushing past Seamus. He stood next to Arthur, looking unimpressed, "Unless you were exaggerating the severity of the situation, I don't think we have time for bickering."  
Arthur nodded, starting to think and trying to ignore another smashed teacup, and Ireland saying something about there always being time for bickering and trying to attack Alasdair with a hug. After fending her off, he looked at England, "Hey, don't drift off now. You're the magic expert, shouldn't you be telling us what to do?"  
Blinking, England said, "Uhh… I'm just trying to think."  
Finally striding forward, joining them in staring at the reflection, Northern Ireland said, "I've got a good starting point. Why don't we decide how to refer to these two? It'll be confusing just saying Arthur and Arthur."

The reflection immediately looked up, stopping his intrusion of privacy, "That's a good idea. Oh, I know! Nicknames! Right, Artie?"  
Arthur glared, "No."  
"Awh… Well, what about Art? Arm? Aardvark? Arnold? Artemi-"  
As he listed off the ridiculous names, England marched over the carnage of the food and grabbed him by the arm, pulling away from the cabinets, "No! None of those, thank you very much. Look, to resolve this situation, why don't you just choose another name for yourself or something?"  
He brightened, "That's a wonderful idea! You can be so nice when you want to be, Artie."  
Arthur growled and let go of his arm. The reflection beamed at him.

Niamh seemed somewhat amused by the situation, "Alright then, what should we call you?"  
He then put a overly introspective hand on his chin, looking as if he was trying to figure out the meaning of life, "What about Lucif-"  
England quickly interrupted him, "No! Look, I'll just give you one, and then we can get this over with. What about… Oliver?"  
His cheerful nature was already grating on Arthur, and he replied, "Okay, great. Now, can we actually talk about what's happening?"  
"Yeah, yeah. Oh, I didn't see much of your living room!" Oliver ran forward, and Arthur followed in exasperation.

\---

(1) One of the many spellings for an Australian language used by the Warnindhilyagwa people in the Northern Territory. It still has quite a few speakers, and there are 1,596 confirmed speakers, but it was speculated there are as many as three thousand.  
(2) Short for te reo Māori, and how many people in New Zealand commonly refer to the language.  
(3) Source used to find surname: http://www.waikato.ac.nz/library/maori-names-index/T1.shtml  
(4) Reference to the original Shattered Reflections, before it was completely rewritten. Many teacups were broken in that story, and not necessarily by Oliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The interaction between Zea and Lin here is probably my favourite in this story so far.  
> Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Hm, I thought the 2Ps weren't supposed to be antagonists?  
> I wonder why 2P England attacked 1P England...


End file.
